


The Bones of Them.

by SaidbhinLuch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Series of ficlets, Sex, Sherlock's POV, Sherlolly - Freeform, mentions of drug use, not explicit, some language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:11:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3099449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaidbhinLuch/pseuds/SaidbhinLuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moments in Sherlock and Molly’s relationship based around the most intrinsic, basic structure Sherlock Holmes knows. <br/>The Skeletal Structure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bones of Them.

**_Sternum._ **

The first time that Sherlock Holmes had encountered Molly Hooper she was in the process of cracking open a sternum. _Recent graduate; within the top three of her class. Recent loss of a parent, father most likely. Quiet, thoughtful, intelligent._ His musings were interrupted by the loud snap of the bone which had George behind him muttering somewhat nauseated. She blinked turned, scratched mask obscuring her vision. _Wears contact lenses, self conscious in frames._

Her eyebrows contracted then shot up as she lifted the plastic, eyes skimming up his body. He countered with a smirk and an arched eyebrow. The blush that resulted was oddly pleasing to him.

‘Ah Molly Hooper. What are you gentlemen doing in here?’ She paused to cover the body carefully, turning to them, snapping off her gloves. Introducing herself and holding her hand out as

‘Mike.’ Sherlock waved her off, walking to the open cadaver and leaning in curiously. Molly Hooper glared at him as he grew dangerously close to the man on her slab. Though attracted to him, evident by the dilated pupils and the increase in the rhythm of her jugular, she maintained her poise. A first. Not many of those who were attracted to him regained their composure so quickly.

‘Huh?’ At this point Graham stepped towards her, probably explaining the nature of their working relationship and that he was here under the supervision of Scotland Yard. Boring. Sherlock was infinitely more intrigued with the case in front of him. He did take note of the extended handshake. Even more dull.

‘Asphyxia.’

He turned to see Molly walking back towards the table. The image of professionalism. Well, doing her utmost to be.

‘My best guess would be curare poisoning.’  She suggested pulling on a pair of gloves. He tilted his head, at her; watching as she tried to control her breathing.

‘Causing paralysis of the diaphragm. Very possible.’ Molly blinked at something behind her, Lestrade most likely over reacting to his agreement. He watched as Molly covered him back up again, she stepped away from the body. Both he and Geoff followed.

‘I need to finish Mr. Lenard’s autopsy, if both of you could leave I will contact both of you with details as soon as I can.’ Both men nodded and turned to leave. He could feel Molly Hooper’s curiosity and turned back to her.

‘The name’s Sherlock Holmes, see you soon.’ He winked and swept his coat out behind him, smirking knowingly as a clatter echoed in the morgue.

**_Coxic._ **

His mind had finally slowed down; he was no longer spiralling out of control. The heroin had hit his vessels at long last; giving the reprieve he so desperately needed. Cases kept his mind occupied, but there were so few truly _intriguing_ cases… It wasn’t enough. _This_ however, this; made him feel sane. He walked the streets of London feeling free and unencumbered. He stopped at Hyde Park and stared up at the sky, taking in what stars he could see.

‘Sherlock?’ He turned slowly, blinking. The pathologist from Barts. _Molly Hooper_. His Mind Palace managed to supply. A surprise given how under the influence he was. Her hair was curled at the end, some of it held back from her face and a new full fringe cut in. The overall effect was that of an even younger woman. She smiled brightly, pulling her bright blue scarf even closer.

‘How have you been? Not many cases for you at the moment.’ Oh she was beginning to chat. Sherlock was not in the mood or state of mind for attempting to act like a typical human. He hmm’d vaguely. Eliciting a suspiciously curious look. Her face became serious in a flash. Molly, in a move faster than he would have imagined her capable of, grabbed his arm and shoved his sleeve up.  Her gasp at the marks and dark red marks from burst capillaries rang in his mind like a bell. She stumbled back from him, tripping and landing painfully on her backside.

‘Molly…’

‘Why? You have this gift, this amazing ability to see almost everything…’ She was struggling to stay calm. Her chest heaving; horrified and scared for him. ‘Why would you THROW THAT AWAY????’ She yelled out, people stopping at the sound. Sherlock offered his hand to her, but she slapped it away. Molly stood up, fixing her scarf and hat, pulling out a phone.

‘You need help.’ She pulled back from him, punching in numbers. Sherlock glanced from her face, which was solemn and apologetic to the phone with the numbers she was hiding so well.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Helping you. Forgive me.’ She turned and walked away talking quietly into the phone.

Mycroft was waiting for him at 221B when he got home. Sherlock had to give it to Molly Hooper, calling up Mycroft t get him into rehab after only knowing him for a few months. Brave. Very much so. It seemed that his brother was of like mind. ‘That Ms. Hooper. Impressive.’ Sherlock walked into the flat where Mrs Hudson was preparing tea and fluttering around the kitchen.  She turned at looked at him sadly. He nodded and turned to his brother; glaring.

‘Must be to get your attention.’

‘Time for a change brother mine.’

**_Patella._ **

Sherlock made a note to inform Molly that a vast security update was required for her flat as he manoeuvred his way in through her window. It was tricky with her old windows, but not completely impossible as he landed into her bathroom with a faint thump.  Sherlock yawned, much to his chagrin. The running, tracking and eliminating of the Network as well has having to remain dead was taking its toll. As much as it pained him to admit it, he needed the rest. He had returned to London for an in-depth update and for further planning. Sherlock refused his safe houses however. There was only so much time he could be expected to tolerate Mycroft and his people. Molly Hooper’s was the only logical solution. Though as he received a sudden knee to the back; sending him painfully to the tiled floor… he was swiftly reconsidering that view. Using the strength in her legs Molly flipped him over and pinned him down in such a manner that he could not move.

Once again Molly had surprised him.

‘OH MY GOD!! Sher-’ Molly yelped out as a faint beam of light coming from her room lit up his face. She recoiled, allowing Sherlock the time to move to cover her mouth before she could call out his name.

‘-lock.’ She whispered gasping, scrambling off of him. One hand clutched at her hand, the other in her thick hair. _Recently trimmed, nervous, nail biting. Job interview. Possible promotion._

‘Stop that.’ He blinked as she walked past him, putting her hair up in a messy bun. He sat on her couch watching as she grabbed a pair of glasses, a first aid kit and a bottle of whiskey. His preferred whiskey. Odd. He could not recall ever drinking whiskey in her presence or mentioning his preferred drink. He stretched out on leg, wincing at the tenderness of his knees.

‘That is not required.’ He nodded at the first aid kit. Oddly enough she did not look relieved but more resigned.  She took a hearty sip of the whiskey, unable to stop herself from hissing at the burn of it down her throat.

‘ _This_ time.’ She muttered savagely, taking another swig. She stared at his glass meaningfully and he took an equally generous gulp or two.

‘How long do I have to keep doing this?’ She placed the glass down, not quite on aim, it slipping ever so slightly off of the coaster. The clink of the glass was unbearably loud in the small room. For the first time Sherlock could see just how tired Molly was. Her face was pale; unhealthily so. Lined and her movements were slow and sluggish. Signs of recent and recurrent illness. Minor colds and infections. Stress induced migraines and irregular periods. Even though it was hard to make out with the thickness of her hair, it seemed to have things slightly. He knew that even with the hours she worked and researched, she always took the time to take care of herself.

‘I-  I honestly can’t say.’ She downed the rest of her whiskey and smiled sadly. Rationally he understood how much she had sacrificed for him. The amount she continued to give every single day. And he felt sad. Not a common occurrence with him. She leaned over, pouring another glass, topping his up more than generously. 

‘Then figure it out.’ Her eyes were weary and Sherlock was dismayed to see lacking all hope. She was the epitome of hope and light. The woman with the almost endless capacity for empathy and love. She stood up and he was suddenly aware of the fact that he caught her at a bad time. In not much more than a little pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Her right knee was already beginning to show evidence of her earlier strike. Colouring darkly, stark against the especially pale skin of her legs.

‘I will. Soon as is possible.’ She took down her hair and dug one hand into the thick tresses. She stared up and around the room trying to find something to distract herself.  

‘Make it very soon. I can’t do this for much longer. It hurts too much.’ Leaning up against her window staring out, tired and forlorn. Sherlock had never felt quite so guilty, even lying to John all this time didn’t have the same effect. She glanced at him briefly, turning back to world outside; eyes clouding over sadly. The realisation that his appearances made it all the worse for him caused a clench in his abdomen he’d rarely fully acknowledged. The weight of his reappearances, the knowing of his continued living and not being able to tell anyone was a burden. Too much of one for a single person. He demanded too much of her, not that she would not do her utmost, but he should never have asked it.

_Sentiment._

But she was worthy of it.

**_Zygomatic_ **

It was entirely irrational that his cheek was aching months after the events of Magnussen. It worried him that he was unable to eliminate the psychosomatic throb in his face. He steeled himself as he entered his mind palace and landed in the morgue.

“What?” Palace Molly was emulating her real life counterpart’s anger and ire that he had grown accustomed to since the events. She stood on the other side of his slab, arms folded. Sherlock frowned as he took in the elegant and domineering suit she was clad in. Not typical Molly Hooper attire, though fitting when he took into consideration her growth in the past few years.

‘Am…’

‘Oh am I supposed to be the mild manner, appeasing, _agreeable_ woman you abused? That one is gone. Do keep up.’ Palace Molly turned to the drawers and opened one up. She turned with a flourish, glaring at him. There he was in front of him. Sherlock himself was laid out on the slab. A rather disconcerting image really. Molly slowly flickered back to his usual imagining of her. Practical trousers and the ever intriguing patterned jumpers.

‘If you continue with your recklessness just for a hit, _this_ will happen.’ She ripped off the sheet covering him and stared at him. The body in front of him decayed and withered away and she stormed over to him.

‘Don’t do that to them. To _her_.’ With that she raised an arm and smacked him.

He roused from his palace with a jolt leaving him at the microscope and the retreating back of the woman in question. John was standing in front of him looking concerned. Eyes flicking back and forth from him to the shut door.

‘Still not speaking to you.’ He mused pulling up a stool and sitting down. Sherlock sighed hiding a wince at his still aching cheek. John’s brow furrowed curiously.  ‘Thank you for the blatantly obvious.’ John shook his head; rolling his eyes.

‘Have you tried an apology? A _real_ apology?’

‘I do not get passed _“Molly”_.’ John whistled spinning in the chair, quite childishly. He paused, stopping and leaning on the desk. Giving him his very best serious Doctor face.

‘You are going to have to play this carefully. Molly is not a woman to be trifled with. And you have been a complete _ass_ to her.’

‘I am aware.’ He nodded at his friend. He tapped out a piece with his fingers as John processed his thoughts.

‘Are you aware of how much you are going to have to grovel?’

‘Grovel?’

‘Yes as in “on hands and feet begging for mercy from a person akin to a god” type grovelling.  And given everything she’s done for you… she deserves all that and more.’ Sherlock opened his mouth and paused. John sighed and rubbed his temple slowly. The lights above them flickered casting his face into shadow briefly. Sherlock grimaced and John shook his head. ‘This is going to take some work isn’t it? _Fan_ -tastic.’

**_Clavicle_ **

He knew he shouldn’t have been there. Molly had made her opinions of him extremely clear. Even he; with his complete lack of caring about the social niceties, abided by her wishes. It did not mean he was not going to keep tabs on her. Ensure that Moriarty or whoever pulled the resurrection stunt did not lay a hand on her. His attempts at an apology; a genuine one had not been met with even the glimmer of a positive reaction. How could he have forgotten so easily the stubbornness of this woman???

_Foolish dear brother._

Sherlock turned to see his minds imagining of Mycroft leaning against the far wall. Disdainfully staring at his nails; then up scornfully at his brother. Sherlock swatted him away irritably, ducking into the shadows as the front door opened. Molly yawned as she kicked off a pair of shoes that Sherlock would never have imagined she’d have worn. She did take a moment to look around the room suspiciously.

 _“You are now imagining things Molls. Get over it.”_ She muttered as she took off her coat, throwing it onto the couch along with her dressy bag. She swept her hair over her shoulder, sitting down on a chair and stretching her toes. The dark rich midnight blue of her dress almost set her pale skin a glow. He winced at the thought. Mycroft was back again rolling his eyes mockingly. She turned on the lamp next to her and picked up a book. Not the sappy romantic type he took her for but science fiction. Unusual science fiction. Judging by her giggles it was humorous too.

After a period of time she stood up, putting a book mark in the book and padded off to her room, picking up her shoes as she walked off. There was a moment in which she froze. Hovering over the lamp; looking around the room suspiciously. The way in which the light struck her, caused a clenching in his gut. One which he could easily identify but was hesitant to do so. Her eyes were dark and glittering, shoulders completely exposed by the strapless gown. A simple opal necklace, _her grandmothers_ rested in her suprasternal notch. She scratched her clavicle self consciously. Molly shook her head, turning off the lamp and headed back to her bedroom.

Sherlock started looking for the cameras he knew that Anthea had installed. He would not let strangers view her most intimate moments. Yes he was spying on her at this moment, but there were limits to what he would let happen. Even if it was for her own safety. Sherlock was making to leave when he noticed that Molly hadn’t shut the door to her room. He turned to move away but stopped dead when her dress hit the floor. He had no idea why he was so stunned on seeing her in her underwear. It was far from the first time he had seen her with so little clothing, given he had known her for so many years. This time he couldn’t turn away. He felt the stirrings within himself and bolted out of the flat as soon as he could.

He had felt arousal before, but this? This was a far more dangerous beast and it was triggering flight, he was not capable of the fight.

**_Mandible_ **

Sherlock Holmes was ashamed to say that he was hanging around uncertainly outside of Molly’s door. And yet here he was. One hand was even hovering at her door, just about to knock but not quite getting to the finale. The door swung open managing to catch him off guard. There she was looking as furious as ever. ‘I got a phone call from Mrs. Hudson. Apparently Tom has turned into a stalker. Made more sense than Sherlock Holmes acting like a besotted school boy.’ She leaned against her door frame. He opened his mouth to say something, but words were escaping him.

Her jaw clenched. Sherlock grabbed her arm and marched them both into the living room. She glared fiercely at him, hissing as he locked the door. ‘What do you think-’

‘I have tried to apologise. But we both know that I am terrible at that. Even with John’s help.’ Molly blinked as he ripped off his coat and suit jacket. He muttered the last part but she caught it never the less and gaped up at him. ‘John helped?’ Sherlock fluffed his hair nervously, or a nervously as he could get. ‘As did Mary.’

She blinked and walked past him, heel of her right hand digging into her forehead. ‘That explains a lot.’ She sat down heavily and gestured for him to follow suit. He sat down, now very aware of the fact that he hadn’t been in close proximity to her in quite some time. ‘Fine. You can explain everything. It doesn’t mean I’m going to forgive you, or I won’t still be angry with you Sherlock. I am giving you this chance to make me understand _why_ you did all of this _shit.’_

So they sat for over two hours, Molly sitting silently, face stoic. He coughed; voice rough and deeper than usual. Her eyes narrowed sceptically and she stood heading into the kitchen. Sherlock followed somewhat warily. He was expecting a reaction, tears, screaming, more slapping perhaps. More silence and standoffish behaviour was not what he had envisioned happening. She poured out a glass of wine and leaned against the counter, staring at him. Her stare was dead steady and piercing.

‘I still don’t understand why the heroin was necessary.’  He blinked. She drank smugly. Her head tilted as her eyes narrowed at him.

‘It was a means to an end.’

‘To show that Sherlock Holmes was unsteady, had a weakness to be exploited?’ Her face contracted, twitched and contorted into an expression of pure scepticism.

‘Yes.’

‘What about a botched case? Deduction gone wrong? Something that Moriarty used being “true”?’ She suggested, throwing her arm around just about spitting out the words. Sherlock frowned at the ire still in her words and body language. Tension in her jaw and around her eyes.  Shoulders square and she was pulling herself up to her tallest.

‘Those are viable options, but the drug use was the most efficient. I was under a time restriction. You are still angry?’

‘Are you surprised by that?’ She scoffed loudly at his question, toasting him mockingly.

‘A bit.’

‘You really are incredible.’  She sat up on the counter behind her, shaking her head. She draining the glass and placed it gently down next to the sink.

‘What do I have to do?’ She sighed looking out the window nearest her. Sherlock tried not to stare too freely at her. It made it rather difficult to make it seem as though he didn’t have an ulterior motive for apologising. Molly would believe in a moment that he was doing it so he’d have free access to the lab again. The past few years would not guarantee faith in his actions. Of all the times to figure out he was very much attracted to her. He watched as her mind drifted. Whatever she was seeing, it was impossible for him to tell whether it was in his favour or not.

‘I don’t even know anymore… Could you please go?’  She didn’t even look at him, staring out of the window. Her hair slipped forward blocking her face from view. Sherlock stood and went to pick up his coat and jacket. He turned towards her. ‘For what little it is worth, I am truly sorry, Molly Hooper. For all that I’ve done to you. You of all people deserve better than the likes of me.’ He could feel her eyes boring holes into his back.

‘People like you make life infinitely more interesting.’ He turned looking at her wonderingly. She was still staring out the window, tucking her hair back behind her ear. What struck him was the way the blush starting to burn its way up her neck. Sherlock stared up at the wall in front of him, thinking quickly. He dropped his clothes and marched over to Molly, looking down at her. His eyes scanned her face before kissing her.

It was better than heroin, the blast of oxytocin and dopamine coupled with the fact that Molly was embracing the kiss in an almost violent manner of enthusiasm, sending his mind into previously unknown highs. His hands of their own accord were under her t-shirt and stroking her back. Hers did not seem to stop, one minute at his hair the next ripping his shirt opening with a growl that sent shockwaves down his spine. She pulled back, trying to catch her breath. Molly’s eyes glimmered brightly up at him. He took a deep breath about to say something but Moly took of her won mouth a swiftly and silent told him to shut it as she pulled him down again.

When it came to what she wanted, Molly held nothing back it seemed. It was furious and intense. His heart beat was roaring in his ears, Molly surrounding him. It was fire and ice„ the steam enveloping the pair of them. The rush of the moment and all the moments that led to it; drowning out all rational thought. _The instincts_. The underlying motivation of humans; the one that he and Mycroft had managed to conquer. Or so they had arrogantly thought. And at this moment with Molly rearing up above him, taking him to the hilt… he really didn’t care. He may have been thanking god or praising Molly, his mind was short circuiting in a way that didn’t even compare to the heroin.

He had to pray he never mentioned that comparison to her. His name was a mantra to her and he was completely incapable of words. Time was fluid around them. It was only the increasing sounds from the pair of them, and the growing numbers of scratches biting into the skin of his back that suggested that it was moving onwards.  Then lights exploded behind his eyes and Molly’s head was thrown backwards. Eyes rolling into the back of her head moaning incomprehensibly. Sherlock had to stop his knees from buckling out from under him. Molly chuckled, legs loosening from around him.

**_Vertebrae._ **

It wasn’t often Molly allowed herself to lay in bed all morning. Once every few months at the most, but this day with the warm summer light streaming in the window, she relaxed. Lying on her front, legs up in the hair, a book laid out on her pillow, she was the definition of content. He was not one either for such unhurried, pointless behaviour but as he watched the muscles along her scapulae move. Shadows dancing along her back, highlight the grooves of her vertebrae, leading down to the two dimples in her lower back and the sheet that barely cover her backside. Sherlock found himself more than willing to waste the day away with her.

He counted the upper 24 articulate bones, mapping out the contours and underlying structure of the woman he had unknowingly grown so attached to. He could see the muscles ripple and move, contract and relax, on every breath, on every movement.

‘You’re doing it again.’ She muttered, not in displeasure. More of a fond resignation. A multitude of contradictions this woman. Molly turned to look at him, as he tried to ignore the movement of her breast somewhat blocked from view by her arm, smiling ever so slightly.

‘Sorry.’

‘Oh it’s fine, but if you do have to map out my skeletal structure in your head, could you do it a bit more quietly? Some of us are trying to read.’

‘You cannot possibly hear my thoughts.’ He started counting her vertebrae with his fingers, ignoring the little twitches along her back. She shook her head, moving the paper out of the way; head dropping. Her hair slithered across her back as she looked at him with dark eyes. ‘I disagree with you entirely. I can _hear_ your mind whirling and clicking over here.’ Sherlock rolled his eyes and flopped back onto the bed. She laughed brightly moving over towards him. She poked his cheek affectionately. The pair paused as two excited voices called out from the living room. Molly leapt from the bed and grabbed the closet thing she could find. His purple shirt. A perennial favourite of Molly’s it would seem. She managed to get it closed to be somewhat decent and throw the duvet over his lap before the door burst open.

‘Mary’s gone into labour, Sherlock you weren’t answering your phone!! Isn’t it wonderful??’ She dashed into the room; completely oblivious to Molly in the corner. Sherlock tilted his head nodding slowly. Waiting. He had to bite down on the smile that was appearing at the sight of Molly turning bright red, pulling the shirt down. Not that it was needed really. On Janine his shirts required assurances for decent coverage. Molly on the other hand, with her shorter and slimmer physique, was more than decent. It also had the added bonus of being dramatically more alluring.  Then Lestrade appeared at the door, jaw dropping at the sight before him.

‘Hi!’ Molly managed to squeak awkwardly before grabbing her clothes and sprinting into the bathroom. Mrs. Hudson blinked at the dawning realisation that Sherlock had not been on his own. As well as being in a rather compromising situation. Lestrade continued to gape at them before finally managing a _“What? Really????’_


End file.
